


it's another beautiful night (i'm shining)

by missgine (blueberry_muffin)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Gen, M/M, Synesthesia, and the markson is subtle but it's there haha, i love synesthesia aus and mark so here we are lol, insp: the omw mv, mark can see colors ok, so so self indulgent lol, so yeah this is more mark centric, some hurt and comfort i guess? but nothing major, synesthesia! au, what is cohesion, what is description lol, what is flow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-09-21 08:13:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17040065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberry_muffin/pseuds/missgine
Summary: Mark has actually never outright told the rest of the members that he has synesthesia. He's nervous, okay!? Whenever he opens his mouth the words just don't come out and soon another member is filling the silence with chatter. Sometimes Mark really hates being the quiet one.(or, alternatively, the mark has synesthesia au that no one asked for but i wrote anyway lol)[actually, that's a lie, i asked for it lol)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the beautiful and colorful omw mv lol  
> i love that mv's editing god lol

Mark never thought he was particularly weird. Sure, he did some weird stuff, but so did everyone else to be honest, but it didn’t make him  _ weird.  _ He didn’t even think anything was wrong with him until one visit from the doctor told him otherwise. He was younger, maybe eleven, maybe twelve, maybe thirteen, but that doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that Mark got into a biking accident that required him to get stitches on his face and multiple trips to the doctors. 

 

The doctor had wanted to make sure he didn’t have a concussion and made Mark follow the light he was shining in his eyes. Mark felt like he could have puked and fainted at the same time, the doctor’s flashlight mixed with the urgent and worried maroon of his parents, the crimson of his pain, and the bright white sterile of the hospital made him so dizzy he crumpled back into his father’s arms murmuring how the colors were too loud it hurt. 

 

When the room stopped spinning and Mark could open his eyes and focus, Mark’s parents were looking at him in increased worry, his mother muttering a constant stream of red under her breath that he did have concussion and how she was going to kill his cousins for letting him tag along with them as she wrung her wrists. Mark’s father had his hand, warm and safe, cradling the back of Mark’s neck, his thumb rubbing soft, comforting circles. 

 

His father glanced at the doctor before shifting his gaze to glance down at Mark.

 

“Yien,” he started softly, still gently massaging the back of Mark’s neck. “What did you mean when you said the colors were too loud?” 

 

And so Mark tried his best to explain in a weakened, tired voice how there were just too many loud colors in the room from his parents’ worry and the doctor’s calming blue, and the light grey haze stemming from the constant hum of the machines that it just felt like too much and it made him dizzy. 

 

And so, it was this visit to the doctor that confirmed that Mark had something the majority the population didn’t: synesthesia.  

 

-

 

It’s a common mistake people make when they think that Mark’s silence means he’s passive. (He’d gotten into so many fights when he was younger that his father put him into martial arts saying that if he was going to fight, he was going to be safe (win). It was a win-win situation, Mark’s mother stopped getting too worried and all of Mark’s extra energy was now devoted to cool martial arts tricking.)

 

Mark is quiet not because he doesn’t have anything to say, but because he just doesn’t want to speak. Why would he want to speak when he can listen and marvel at the colors of each of his members’ voices? Why would he want to see his own voice when he has six other people, six other colors, to appreciate. 

 

He’s learned his members as quickly as he did thanks to his synesthesia. He’s learned them by their colors, their moods, their personalities. He loves when he’s able to help his friends and family by knowing exactly what they need based on the color of their voice or how down their mood is. He loves his friends so much, he never wants anything to seriously bother them and always wants to help them, when he can. 

 

His mother always joked after they found out about his synesthesia, how his heart was too soft a pink and that he had to take good care of it. Mark doubted his heart was that color, but he appreciated the confusing sentiment nonetheless. 

 

-

 

Mark loves to observe his members. He likes to sit and watch them make a fool out of themselves or talk quietly over dinner. He’s so thankful that they don’t mind him just hanging around and don’t mind him not talking. His members are lovely, never forcing him to talk and letting him laugh at his heart’s extent. 

 

Mark has notebooks of half-written lyrics and descriptions of people and sounds and colors. If anyone were to find them they would have thought his scribbles were nonsense, but Mark treasures all of his notebooks, especially a special, leather bound one the members got for him for one of his birthdays before debut. They saved up extra money, penny pinching when they could to get it before his birthday and Mark will always treasure this notebook more than others. Inside of it is only his neatest writing and the most beautiful of his observations, such as the descriptions of his members colors. 

 

Jaebum is a deep and elegant black, power and authority pouring out of his pores and into his voice that left Mark without a doubt he’d make a good leader before they debuted. Jinyoung is royal blue, security and responsibility all rolled into one sassy mother hen. Youngjae is a bright and happy yellow, cheery and optimistic, his voice and personality like sunshine. Bambam is a sassy violet, wild imagination and creativity that Mark’s so happy to see has never been stamped out from harsh schedules, training, and especially haters. Yugyeom is a deep green, holding so much potential inside his tall body, kindness sprouting from the leaves of his stable branches. Mark loves them so much he’s speechless sometimes. 

 

And then, there’s Jackson. 

 

God. Bright, too loud, insecure, handsomely-obnoxious, self-conscious, courteous, caring, confident Jackson Wang. 

 

Wang Jiaer.

 

_ Gaga.  _

 

Mark is stunned speechless whenever he’s around, taking in the dulcet golds of Jackson's deep voice, the golden shimmer of his boisterous laughter. Mark truly believes Jackson was named correctly, King indeed. Only someone like Jackson would make gold his color and do it so effortlessly that Mark is left gasping in awe at his golden majesty. 

 

(And Mark will never tell anyone but-

 

In the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep and all the world’s colors have been muted, Mark blushes to himself, face buried into his pillow when he thinks about how well he and Jackson really do fit together. Jackson, with his brilliant golds, and Mark with all his flustered reds, balanced and in harmony.

 

Mark tries not to also think about how these are the traditional colors of a wedding but that’s usually when he ends up screaming fuschia into his pillow and Jackson wakes up thinking he’s had a nightmare.)

 

That hasn’t happened in a while and that’s only because Jackson has moved out of the dorms and Mark has the room all to himself and is free to scream a rainbow into his pillow all he wants for a variety of reasons. 

 

-

 

Mark has actually never outright told the rest of the members that he has synesthesia. He knows that JYP knows and that their manager does too, even if he doesn’t completely understand. He’s not purposefully hiding the truth, he’s just not exactly spilling it out either. He just doesn’t know how to tell them. 

 

Mark’s nervous, okay?! Whenever he opens his mouth the words just don’t come out and soon another member is filling the silence with other chatter and his moment is gone. He doesn’t think that any of them will react negatively, it’s just that his track record with telling people have made them treat him differently, like something to be studied. He’s stopped telling people who aren’t required to know after a few choice cases. 

 

He knows he has to tell them sooner than later, but he just doesn’t know how. Sometimes Mark really hates being the quiet one. 

 

-

 

Mark creeps into the kitchen for some coffee, awareness slowly making its way into his mind as he inhales some caffeine and eats a quick bowl of cereal. He blinks, body leaning against the counter and head tilting the side as he tries to gauge what kind of day it is today. 

 

He turns on the faucet to rinse out his mug, the turquoise of the tap calming, when a bright flash of neon orange and disgusting lime green slams into his view, making him flinch and drop his mug ungracefully into the sink, clunking down with a dark brown thunk. Bambam and Yugyeom burst into the kitchen with all their usual splendor and then some, playfully -and loudly- bickering, highlighter colors twirling around the kitchen. 

 

Mark inhales sharply and lifts a hand to his head, rubbing at his temple. He was thinking it’d be a grey day, fuzzy and slightly muted, bearable, but that thought was immediately destroyed by all the neon swimming in his vision thanks to the two maknaes. 

 

Jaebum yells at them to stop fooling around and get ready for practice and Mark sways a little, neons a little too loud, lights a little too bright and Jaebum’s dark, slinking annoyance mixing into a repulsive cocktail of colors. He swallows his nausea back and walks a little unsteadily back to his room to change. 

 

He just needs to calm down and wear a hat for practice. He’ll be fine.

 

-

 

So, yeah, Mark is not fine. At all. 

 

They haven’t been dancing that long but Mark is panting like he’s run a marathon. His head is bent low and he rests his hands on his knees, head low on his shoulders as he leans forward. He knows that the other members are staring at him in worry, knows that Mark’s endurance is one of the best and for him to be this tired this soon means that something is  _ wrong _ . His nerves feel white hot, like they were stripped of their outer covering and all that’s left is the vulnerable fleshy middle. 

 

He straightens up slowly, holding the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger, swallowing back the bile that’s building in the back his throat. Mark’s warm and perspiring a little from practice, but his sweat is starting to cool and he shivers. His breathing turns shallow and Mark really hopes his doesn’t puke as he takes off his cap and drops it to the ground carelessly, pressing his palms against his eyes. Even with his eyes closed tightly shut he can still hear,  still see, still  _ feel _ the colors of the other members voices, reds and oranges rising in hue as they become more worried, frantic. 

 

“Mark-hyung, are you okay?”

 

“Hyung?”

 

“Hyung?!!”

 

Mark presses his lips together when the nausea hits him. He’s sure he’s paler than he usually is and flinches so hard when someone touches his shoulder that their hand gets jerked off; that touched felt like a stab to his hypersensitive nerves. He swallows, throat dry and too wet at the same time, colors flashing and spinning in front of him, kaleidoscope-ing, nerves hot like a brand and a spicy cinnamon red-brown. Every sound assaults his system, even his own sickly green breathing. 

 

Mark takes an involuntary step and crumples forward. He feels the sudden, cold rush of air before strong arms are catching and cradling him to their chest, slowly sinking the both of them down to the ground. He can’t even appreciate that because his nerves are so shot, colors flashing uncomfortably bright behind his eyelids, the members voices a deafening urgent orange and yellow. Mark curls into a fetal position in whoever’s lap he’s in and whines high in his throat, so overwhelmed that he starts to cry, unrestrained. 

 

Someone is speaking softly to him, and usually Mark would find the soft, affectionate pastels comforting, but all they do now is make him more nauseous and he sobs. 

 

“Quiet…” he croaks drily.

 

“Hyung, what-”

 

“Be quiet please,” he sobs, unsure of what language he uses, eyes shut and hands pressed to his ears, curled so tightly together he can’t even take a proper deep breath. 

 

The voices go silent immediately. Mark still sees little pinpricks of color behind his closed eyes when the others move around a bit and when he breathes, but it’s a little more manageable now. When his breathing gets less harsh, he uncurls a little and his shoulders lower themselves from where they were hunched up by his ears. 

 

When he feels it’s okay, Mark slowly moves his hands off his ears but has them still clenched into fists, pressed close to his chest. He feels weak and cold and his hip aches from how it’s pressed against the hardwood of the practice room. 

 

Mark can feel the hesitation in the air before a hand settles slowly and warmly into his hair, gently rubbing in between his neck and the base of his skull and Mark can’t help himself. He makes a primal noise in the back of his throat that universally screams  _ COMFORT ME _ and he’s suddenly he’s being situated upright, arms caging his body in warmth and a hand guiding his head to lay on a broad shoulder _.  _ He turns more into the person’s embrace and nuzzles his nose into their neck, breathing in their scent, chin hitting a chain and oh. 

 

_ Jackson.  _

 

Mark slumps into him, weak but warm, safe. He keeps his face pressed against his neck as he takes a few deep breaths, ears ringing and trying to regain his sense of equilibrium. Mark feels like he’s slowly coming out from underwater, everything coming back slowly and then all at once. 

 

He notices his hands are fisted in Jackson’s shirt, grips a vice, he notices the warmth of Jackson’s arm around his waist, his other hand cradling Mark’s head into the crook of his neck, warm breath blowing his bangs gently as he has his mouth pressed against his forehead, lips moving as he croons gently to Mark in mandarin.

 

“ _ Shhh, baobei you’re okay, you’re alright, you’re safe, I got you, you’re safe _ …”

 

Mark can’t even explain how he feels right now, only knows the soft cradle of baby pink and the tendrils of gold vines that creep their way across his eyelids as Jackson holds him, still murmuring. 

 

His eyelashes flutter as he tries to open his eyes, he frowns; it’s a little harder than usual. Jackson notices; the hand cradling his head rub comforting circles at the base of his skull. His presses a kiss on Mark’s forehead and makes an encouraging noise that encourages Mark more than it should. 

 

When he opens his eyes, his lashes brush the skin of Jackson’s neck gently and Mark has to blink a few times to get used to all the colors in his vision again. He pulls back slightly so he can peek at the other members and pouts in discontent. Jinyoung is wringing his wrists as he looks around from Jackson’s side, Jaebum hovering near Jinyoung’s shoulder. Their manager is there and places a hand on Jaebum’s shoulder. Youngjae is in front of the MarkandJackson complex, looking like he wants to grab Mark in his arms and never let go. Bambam and Yugyeom each have a fist curled around the fabric of Mark’s pants on Jackson’s other side; Bambam is crying. 

 

“Bammie…” Mark calls softly, struggling to unclench his own fist from Jackson’s shirt to offer to Bambam; Mark’s voice a soft, baby blue. Once Bambam realizes what he’s doing, he darts forward and quickly -but softly- clasps hands with Mark. He brings up their hands to his wet face and presses them to the sides of his cheek, lower lip still quivering. 

 

“H-hyung, hyung, I hate you! You s-scared us - _ me _ , so b-bad! I thought you were gonna die!” Bambam cries, his slight sobs jostling Mark’s arm; he holds Bambam’s hand tighter. Mark feels terrible and curls back into Jackson’s embrace unconsciously, trying to make himself smaller. Jackson notices and rubs a hand down his back comfortingly. He hides for a bit before he takes a deep breath. 

 

When Mark looks up from where his head is buried into Jackson’s shoulder, there are six pairs of eyes staring expectantly at him. They’re not judging or malicious or scientifically curious; they’re worried and warm and accepting. 

 

And so Mark opens his mouth and speaks. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally finished this lmao
> 
> enjoy! 🤗

Mark wakes up with the stark but quiet awareness of “Fuck, I’m awake and I don’t want to be.” His eyes are still closed and his blankets are pulled up over his chin, warm. He turns to nuzzle back into his pillow and force himself back to sleep when he hears footsteps come walking towards his door. The steps are purposefully light and airy, a sneaky blue and black, and Mark knows he’s about to be bothered. He still stubbornly closes his eyes and pulls his duvet over his head anyway; it’s too early for this.

 

He hears the doorknob click and his door opens, lavender breathing filling in Mark’s senses. Bambam, then.

 

“He’s still sleeping!” Bambam whisper shouts to the rest of the members, voice quiet but colors a loud and smooth mauve. 

 

“Bam, shut up! Oh my god, stop being so loud! Close his door at least-” His door is quickly, but quietly closed but Mark stills hears -or at least sees- the conversation the members are having in their kitchen, no doubt. 

 

Mark sighs. Oh, yeah. Mark closes his eyes as the events from yesterday play in his mind. 

 

He sticks an arm out to get his phone and checks the time; it’s just a little past ten am. He should probably get up soon but he still feels a little weak, a little too lightheaded than normal. To be honest, the thing that’s causing Mark the most apprehension is how his members might treat him now. After telling and talking about his synesthesia yesterday after he all but fainted, Mark has actually been too tired to truly gauge their reactions.

 

He knows he’s been met with surprised support, but that’s as far as he saw before he just wanted to curl up and sleep for a week. He’s actually surprised they let him sleep as long as he did. 

 

He stretches and slowly gets up from the bed, taking note of how he feels. Once he deems it safe for him to stand up he does and makes his bed, the sheets rustling a crisp linen white; he’s already awake and obviously not going to be able to fall back asleep so he might as well get some food. 

 

He pads slowly and silently to the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and when he enters it immediately falls silent, colors dropping from his vision like crayons rolling off a table.

 

Mark stops and squints at the others in front of him, all staring at him wide eyed and worried, natural sunlight from the window and the kitchen’s artificial lights highlighting their features. They look like they think he’s going to pass out again, probably. Mark sighs a quiet maroon, trying to not let his slight irritation show. 

 

“What’s for breakfast?” He mumble asks instead, sitting at his usual place at the table, rubbing any leftover remnants of sleeps from his eyes, exhaling deeply. From the corner of his eye, Mark can see Yugyeom, Bambam, and Youngjae physically stop themselves from answering him when Jinyoung scuttles over with food for him, laying everything down in front of him. The bowls make dull brown thuds against the table. 

 

“Thanks, Jinyoungie,” he mutters, biting his tongue to remind himself not to roll his eyes when Jinyoung responds in the quietest voices he’s ever heard. “You’re welcome, hyung.” 

 

He says it in a weird almost too light to be turquoise blue that Mark doesn’t think suits Jinyoung at all.

 

Mark starts to eat and chews a silent beige as all six members stare at him, unblinking. He slams his spoon down harshly on purpose to make them flinch and his lips quirk when the maknaes all shout out in surprise amid blazing fire truck red and warming orange. 

 

“Hyung!”

 

“What the heck, hyung!”

 

“Do you like torturing us in this way-”

 

Jinyoung rises from where he’s situated to level them with a glare that could freeze death when Mark waves him down. “It’s fine, Jinyoungie,” he mumbles around a spoonful of rice. “It’s really fucking weird to see them being this quiet. Besides, sometimes it’s nice having highlighter orange and lime green smacked into your face in the morning.” Mark makes a silly face at them to let them know he’s not mad, but also smirks to let them know he’s also not lying. 

 

“Excuse you hyung, but you better be talking about Gyeom and Jaejae cuz I am way too good for those ugly colors-”

 

“Um, what? Bammie, do you even look in the mirror? I bet you you’re the orange, ugly attracts ugly after all.”

 

“Wow, you’re right! That must be why you’re my best friend-” 

 

Youngjae’s bright yellow laughter fills the room as the maknaes begin to banter bicker, Mark giggling into his food, shoulders relaxing. Jackson has his hand over his mouth but it doesn’t stop or muffle his high pitched shimmering gold laughter. It takes no time at all before he’s fully laughing at the maknaes, hands over his face at their antics. He peeks over the tops of his hands to glance at Mark real quick, and finds him smiling brightly at the maknaes, eyes crinkling.

 

Jackson stares at him as he leans against the counter, trying to get his breathing more under his control. Mark is smiling as he eats, adding fuel to the maknae fire by making comments every so often that they use to build more banter between them. His shoulders are soft and relaxed and when he smiles, it’s easy and less stiff than a while ago. Jackson shakes his head at himself, he knows Mark, why would this situation be any different than any other? Sure, they’ve all discovered something that was previously unknown to the whole group, but this is still Mark and Jackson knows him best, knows that all he probably wants now is normalcy. 

 

He moves from he’s standing against the counter to make his way to stand behind Mark’s chair, draping his hands over Mark’s shoulders. His own shoulders relax when he feels Mark lean back into his slight embrace, head leaning into Jackson’s abdomen. Mark tilts his head back to gaze up at him and when Jackson looks down at him, he grins such a bright smile, some giggles slipping through the small gaps of his teeth, and Jackson feels like a freight train crashed into his chest, he’s so beautiful. 

 

Mark jerks suddenly to the side and Jackson’s mind immediately panics, reaching out to grasp at him, but then gets hit in the chest with a piece of soggy vegetable that Mark had dodged. Mark starts laughing harder when he sees that Jackson got hit by the food flying around from the maknaes now playful physical brawl, clutching at his sides as he leans over the chair to laugh.

 

He smiles widely at his members, eyes crinkled and canines shining. Mark’s hair is sleep mussed and his shirt is wrinkled from curling up in thecsame position for hours. The members are still in their own bubble but are also side eyeing him from the corner of their eyes, grinning as he grins, smiling as he smiles. They didn’t want to make Mark feel uncomfortable, didn’t want him to close them out; he’s already quiet enough as it is.  

 

Militaric, Prussian blue bursting across his senses as Jinyoung tries to stop and scold Yugyeom and Bambam for wasting food, lime green and magenta laughter swirling mischievously in his periphery as they run away from him. He can see Jaebum’s low chuckles suffuse into the corners of all his colors, a deep black, encompassing, gathering at the edges. Mark puts his arms on the table and lays his head on them, trying to catch his breath even as a few cherry red giggles still come through. Youngjae’s honking sunflower laughter and Jackson’s golden shouts mix in with the others, a Rorschach made up of a nauseating mix of colors that looks like a baby’s first finger painting. It’s wild and uncontained and an absolute mess. 

 

It looks like home to Mark. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry the ending sucks lmao
> 
> https://curiouscat.me/missgine

**Author's Note:**

> i'm so sorry lol i'll probably continue this eventually haha maybe  
> thanks for reading! <333  
> feel free to talk markson with me on twitter @missg1ne!


End file.
